//------------------------------//
// Witcher Geralt Actually Gets Paid 
// Story: Librarian Twilight Tries To Befriend A Newcomer To Equestria But He's Geralt The White Wolf And Doesn't Really Get Friendship 
// by SoloBrony 
//------------------------------//

"I'm told you've had monster troubles."

The witcher looked the elderly stallion up and down. Ornery Coot lived up to his name, rocking his wheelchair, chewing over a piece of straw, and looking like the entire world had done him wrong.

"Yeah, ya heard darned right, sonny! I got monster problems alright!"

The witcher paused, but Ornery didn't elaborate. With a sigh, the witcher pressed.

"I'm a witcher. Monsters are my specialty. Tell me about these problems, and I can handle them for you – though not for free."

The stallion eyed him like something foul a cat had dragged in. The witcher was accustomed to that look.

"Eh? Not for free? Izzat what you just said?"

Geralt gave a curt nod, and opened his mouth to explain before the stallion cut him off.

"What do you take me for, huh? Huh? Some kinda freeloader? A damsel in distress? Some sorta no-good flea-bitten two-timing city boy? Eh? Eh? Izzat it?"

Geralt took a step back and held up his hands in a placating gesture.

"No, I just—"

"Look around, sonny! Ain't a town for miles! Don't take me for some short-shriftin' businesspony!"

"I'd never—businesspony?"

"Aye, what do I look like to you, a hippogryph?"

Geralt just reached up and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"Look, just tell me about the monster you're having trouble with."

"Alright, alright. It's like this. Every couple'o'days, a darned manticore comes prowlin' around, stealin' my veggies. Do you have any idea how hard I work to cultivate those veggies, hrmm? City-boy?"

Geralt bit back an objection to the appellation of 'city-boy', and had a charming memory of his mentor, Vesemir, calling him the same. Instead, he tried for an amiable smile; the ponies seemed fond of that.

"Yeah, I know how much work it takes to raise veggies. I've had to cultivate herbs before."

Ornery eyed him appraisingly, seeming to see him in a new light.

"Oh? That right?"

Geralt nodded.

"My profession requires that I study alchemy. I've had occasion to raise my own plants in the past."

"Well. Good, then. You know how serious this situation is."

Hardly sounds like a life-threatening ordeal, except...

"This manticore you speak of. The ones in my homeland look like large lions, with giant bat wings and a scorpion's tail. That right?"

"Yep, that's it, sonny. You know your manticores."

Great.

"I've dealt with three in the past. I know my way around a manticore, but I'll still need time to prepare. Just one question; do you have any idea why a manticore would be stealing vegetables? They eat meat."

"I had the same thought, sonny! No idea. Never seen a manticore act like that before - heck, ain't ever seen a manticore before at all."

Geralt nodded, and set off to begin his preparation.

So not just a manticore, but one behaving strangely, even for this place. Great. And here I was hoping the manticores here were herbivores, or something.

Geralt returned to Ponyville and headed straight for the large crystal tower he had originally been directed to. He now knew this was the town's library, and that the town's sovereign, one Princess Sparkle, was absent on some adventure.

No doubt an adventure that includes an armed escort and a minimum of danger for their dainty princess.

Within the library, Geralt pored over tomes about alchemy, about monsters, about anything relevant to manticores. Out of curiosity, he also looked up the strange blue plant he had encountered before, and discovered it was called 'poison joke' - the details of which were in a tome written by none other than Princess Sparkle herself.

Hmm. A sovereign with a flair for the academic, I see. That's refreshing.

The notes on manticores indicated they were much the same as those found in his homeland, and so Geralt began laying out ingredients for a weapon oil, as well as measuring out ingredients for a few bombs.

My supplies are limited, and I've no assurances I can find the rarer ingredients anywhere in this land. From what the locals told me, I'm definitely off-continent. I'll have to be careful what contracts I take on.

Geralt was lost in the process of meticulously constructing his third grenade when he heard the library door open and shut. Glancing aside, he saw an unassuming-looking purple unicorn – little larger than most mares, he thought – stride in. Barely sparing her a glance, he continued his preparations until she strode up to him.

"Hello, sir! Pinkie told me about you - Geralt, right? Can I help you with anything?"

"Not unless you know a good source of rebis I can find locally."

"Sure! Taraxacum carnivorous, the pony-biting dandelion near the edge of the Everfree Forest. There's some not far from here."

The witcher paused, and smiled despite himself, looking over to the pony. To his surprise, he saw she sported wings in addition to her horn.

Guess there are more pony species than I realized.

"I hadn't expected to meet a fellow alchemist here. Thank you. To whom—"

The witcher remembered his prior foul-up with Rarity, and smirked.

"who graces me with their presence?"

The unicorn-pegasus-pony flushed slightly and shook her head.

"I'm the librarian here. Twilight."

To the witcher's surprise, she didn't proffer a hoof for shaking, so he just gave her a courteous nod instead.

"Geralt of Rivia, witcher."

Twilight's countenance lit up excitedly.

"A witcher? What's that?"

Geralt struggled to think of how to present the profession to one who had never heard of it. He had been prepared for prejudice and mistreatment; total ignorance and acceptance was something he hadn't faced before.

"Er... a sort of mutant. We begin as young boys, and become witchers through an alchemical process. It helps us in our job of protecting the innocent from monsters. Our name refers to our use of sorcery; we have access to some limited spells, which we call signs. We can use them to bewitch individuals, to make them leave us alone or confuse them; since witchers are often the subject of scorn, but we try to avoid violence with humans, it comes up often. And so the name has stuck."

Geralt almost halted his explanation several times, but Twilight's unending enthusiasm and wide smile pushed him forward. At the end, Twilight just nodded excitedly.

"So you're a wizard, too!"

"Not really. My magic is very, very limited."

"Can you show me? It's really rare to find a creature who can do magic without a horn!"

So unicorns do magic with their horns. Makes sense. I'll need to remember that.

Geralt paused to consider Twilight's request, and then gave a shrug and stood up.

"Some of my signs would be a bit destructive in here, but I have an idea. Throw a book or something at me."

Twilight frowned at the suggestion, and glanced around the room. Her eyes came to rest on an empty ink jar. Geralt had seen ponies at the party use their hooves and teeth to manipulate objects, so he was unprepared for what came next, though his medallion began vibrating noticeably; without even moving, Twilight's horn lit up suddenly with a lavender glow, and the ink well zipped to her side, covered in the same lavender aura. She looked at him.

"You ready, Geralt?"

Whoa. Telekinesis. These creatures are a lot more dangerous than I thought.

Geralt lifted his hand in the sign of Quen, and nodded. The ink well hurtled at him and bounced harmlessly off of the shield, nearly crashing to the floor before being caught once again in a lavender aura. It quickly returned to its rightful place. Twilight stood on her hind legs and clapped (clopped?) her hooves together excitedly.

"A shield spell! And channeled through a hand gesture – how clever! That's pretty advanced magic, and all without a horn!"

Twilight marveled at his shield and came closer to inspect it. Geralt internally debated letting it drop, but something about the adorable enthusiasm of the creature in front of him pushed him to let her satisfy her curiosity.

"Oh, wow. This shield is fueled entirely by physical stamina, huh? That must be really tiring to hold up!"

Geralt shrugged, letting the shield drop. He did feel a little unsteady on his feet, but he knew he would recover momentarily.

"Advantage of being a witcher; we have extraordinary stamina."

"Oh, so you use it for magic! Yeah, that's smart!"

Geralt smiled despite himself. No one had shown such fascination with his abilities and arts before. Fear, horror, disgust, contempt, even dismissal – these he were accustomed to, but not enthusiasm or admiration.

"Glad you think so."

"So, what are you making?"

Geralt looked over his alchemical preparations.

"Oil and flash-bombs, for dealing with a manticore. This one's apparently been snatching vegetables from a local farmer – any idea what might cause one to behave that way?"

Twilight pondered that, tapping her chin with her hoof in a gesture that he thought was altogether too adorable to be healthy.

"Well... maybe it's under a curse to act against its nature? I have a lot of experience with those kinds of curses. You can make a creature like that pause by holding up a mirror – they get confused and frustrated when they have to look at what they've become. You can lift the curse with a transformation spell, or a powerful enough compulsion."

"Compulsion... bewitching them?"

Twilight nodded happily.

"Exactly! Especially if it's just a mental curse, rather than a physical transformation; then a compulsion to act as themselves will reverse the effect."

"... and the manticore will just head back into the woods and stop bothering the locals. I see. Thank you, Twilight."

Twilight smiled widely and beamed happily.

"Glad to help! Anything else you need?"

Geralt shook his head, but smiled.

"No, I believe I know what to do, but I suspect we'll be seeing a lot of each other."

"Great!"

Twilight set about organizing the returned books while Geralt finished up his alchemy in silence.

-

Tracking the manticore had been easy. It seemed it always took the same route to and from the farm; the large paw prints led directly to and from a large cave on the edge of the woods.

Definitely not normal behavior. Manticores normally roam, looking for prey and mates. I also haven't found any droppings. And it should be more at home in the woods than out here. Did a greater threat drive it from its home?

The witcher set those thoughts aside and carefully crept to a safe distance from the cave, able to watch it without being seen from within. He slowly knelt down, coming to rest on his legs and knees, and removed herbs and potions from his satchel.

Manticore's a tough fight. I'll need to be prepared.

Geralt began eating and drinking his ingredients, filling his body with toxic witchers' herbs, and gently coated his blade with the pale green oil he had cooked up. This would cause the manticore terrible pain, as well as convulsions and shakes; one touch would debilitate its power to fight back.

Not one to take chances with his opponent doing likewise to him, Geralt drank the golden oriole; a potion designed to grant a witcher immunity to venoms of all sort. Pity it didn't do the same for poisons; the potion itself was toxic, and would kill one without a witcher's immunity. Still, he would accept the night of thrashing and miserable bedrest if it meant not being lunch for a venomous manticore.

Thus fortified and prepared, Geralt stood and marched into the dark cave, dilating his pupils wide. Creatures often lurked in dark, hidden crevices of the earth, where no normal man would dare to walk lest they be preyed upon by unseen foes; witchers were equipped to chase them into these dark places, with eyes that rivaled that of the eldest vampire or most terrible necrophage. If the manticore thought to take refuge from those it preyed upon in this place, it would be in for a rude awakening.

Still, Geralt was keenly aware of the tight quarters of the cave. The manticore, he knew, would barely be able to fit in here, but that didn't mean he would have the advantage; he couldn't get beside or behind the creature here, nor would he be able to dodge its strikes. If it leveled its stinger, he would need to retreat outside and lure it out.

Settling with himself on this course, he pressed further into the cave, until he heard a great, rumbling snore in the cave. Despite its volume, however, the witcher thought it was a bit quiet for a manticore – though he'd not had the good fortune to come upon a slumbering one in the past. As he rounded a sharp turn in the cave, sloping down and to the left, he saw a cart's worth of vegetables stacked against a wall.

Uneaten. Either our manticore's got a small appetite, or it's been taking far more than the farmer let on – or realized.

Geralt thought to stalk past the vegetables, but realized the sound was echoing from somewhere near him. He carefully backed away towards the exit, considering his options. Wherever the manticore was, it was hidden - which made it too dangerous to venture further into the cave. Waiting for it to finish resting and emerge sounded like a bad idea.

Time to wake up, jackass.

Geralt slowly drew a Samum – a harmless bomb that made a bright flash and loud sound – from his belt. Backing away to the sharp turn, he leaned around the wall and pulled the switch on the bomb before hurling it towards the vegetable pile.

Even covering his ears and snapping his eyes shut, even sheltered around a corner, the bomb's detonation was unpleasant. He heard a loud, high-pitched scream – not unusual for a manticore, though this one certainly sounded strange – and the clatter of vegetables scattering across the ground. Then, he heard the thrashing of a large creature, and a loud, irritated roar.

There we go.

Geralt whirled around the corner, and came face-to-face with the manticore he sought. The creature squinted and blinked, struggling to see the witcher in the darkness – no doubt due to the flash bomb that had just gone off – and swung its paw randomly. Geralt knew this was just a feint, to draw his attention away from the poised stinger on top of its body, and declined to riposte; instead, he held his hand aloft in the sign of Aard, and blasted the manticore with a shockwave, sending it reeling backwards. The creature staggered and fell in a heap, and the witcher let out a triumphant yell as he fled from the cave, hoping to irritate the creature into following.

Manticores are deadly, but stupid and territorial. This one should come charging out like a battering-ram; that's when I'll take it.

The witcher crouched, taut as a bowstring, next to the cave entrance, but the manticore did not charge out as he had anticipated. Instead, his acute hearing picked up the slow and cautious movements of a creature trying to move in stealth, slowly shuffling to the cave entrance and looking around. The witcher cursed internally; his scent would give him away to the creature, he knew. He sprang from the entrance, and looked the manticore in the eyes, drawing his steel sword in a flash of the reflected afternoon sun, and gestured for the manticore to come to him.

The manticore roared ferociously, rearing up on its hinds legs and spreading its wings as far as it could. Geralt held his left hand up in the sign of Aard, and struck the manticore with another shockwave, slamming its back into the top lip of the cave, and causing it to crash to the ground. The manticore, stunned by the sudden impact, flailed out defensively with its claws and stinger, desperately trying to fend off any follow-up. Geralt kept his distance, and smiled horribly at the creature on the ground.

"Well? Come on, come closer."

The manticore stared at him, and he saw something impossible in its eyes: fear.

Manticores knew no fear. So the witcher had been told, so he had seen with his own eyes on multiple occasions. But there was no mistaking the terror in this creature's eyes. It roared again, much more half-heartedly this time, but flinched when the witcher showed no signs of running.

"You're not going to drive me off. It's just you and me, beast. Don't think you can run, either."

The witcher patted the crossbow handle visible over his shoulder meaningfully. The manticore quailed, recoiling and curling up into a ball.

A cowering manticore. I guess there's a first for everything after all.

Geralt did not advance, nor did he retreat. Unsure of what to do, the witcher stood his ground, watching the manticore carefully, but the creature just held back as well, clearly afraid to get within range of his blade, which it eyed nervously.

Geralt took a step closer, and lifted the blade menacingly.

"You just gonna sit there all day? What's it going to be?"

Remembering the mirror, Geralt lifted it from its place of concealment on the grass, and forced the manticore to look into its own reflection. The manticore simply took on a look of confusion.

So much for that.

Casting the mirror aside, the witcher inched forward, ready to spring forward or away at a moment's notice. But what happened next, he couldn't prepare for.

"I surrender!"

The witcher blinked in confusion, staring at the manticore, who now covered beneath its front paws. He worked his jaw a bit without opening his mouth, before finally coming around to the question on his mind.

"You can speak?"

"I surrender, I said!"

Geralt groaned, leaning back and sheathing his sword.

Great. An intelligent creature. Seems like I don't know the rules for anything in this world. If manticores can speak, who knows what other animals might be capable of? Perhaps that's why Fluttershy offered to catch fish, specifically; at this point, I wouldn't be shocked if a squirrel offered me a dissertation on how to properly prepare nutbread, or something.

"Listen, beast. What the hell were you doing raiding farmers' stockpiles if you can speak and know better?"

"I, uh... I'm stuck out here. I was going to sell them, to try to get cash for a train ticket, to try to get home."

"You think they'd let a manticore on a train?"

"What? No! I'm a changeling!"

The manticore disappeared in a flash of green flames, revealing a small, buglike black pony, with flat blue eyes that Geralt could only faintly discern white pupils in. The changeling desperately rambled on.

"I was going to turn into a merchant pony, and then I was going to sell off all of those vegetables, and buy a train ticket, and try to get home! I haven't heard from the hive in months, so something must be wrong!"

Geralt rubbed the bridge of his nose.

Great. A mimic. One that can assume forms beyond its natural volume, too. Here's hoping this one doesn't get the bright idea to copy me and square off.

"So you're basically just a thief."

The changeling nodded rapidly.

"Yeah, yeah, a thief! Please don't skewer me with that thing! I don't deserve to be killed! Pllleeeaaaaaaaase!"

The bugpony's high-pitched whining caused the witcher to grate his teeth together.

"SHUT UP. I'm hauling you back to town; we'll let the princess decide what to do with you, I imagine."

"No! Noooo, no no no, sir! They hate changelings! That's why I couldn't just go buy a train ticket! Don't you know anything about us? I'll be banished from Equestria, or locked up in a dungeon, or locked up in a dungeon in the place they banished me to! Or worse! Please, please, please don't rat me out! I didn't hurt anypony!"

"Fine! Shut up already! Listen to me, you idiot, if you're a doppler, or a changeling, or whatever you mimics like to call yourselves these days, then have some sense. Take the form of a beggar, beg for the coins to get a train ride, and take it to wherever you're going – no one hires witchers to hunt down beggars, you damned fool!"

The changeling flinched in on himself, but he paused to contemplate.

"Whoa, you've got a good point. I should do that. Man, you'd make a good infiltrator."

"Ugh. Get out of my sight."

"Yes, sir!"

As Geralt trekked back to the farmstead, he groaned for the inevitable loss of his fee. Suffering witchers' herbs was one thing, but to do so without pay was always insult upon injury, and he wasn't in the mood for either. Finally, he came upon Ornery, tending to his personal garden with a trowel between his teeth. On seeing the witcher, he spat the trowel out and walked up to him.

"Well? Eh? You deal with that manticore?"

Geralt contemplated his response, remembering the changeling's words about prejudice. Taking a slow, frustrated breath, he braced himself for the usual tirade.

"I drove the beast off, back to the woods. It shouldn't bother you again."

"Oh? Eh? Good work. Let me count out the bits we agreed on, then."

Geralt blinked, confused, and watched the old pony eyeball his bits as he counted them into a small pouch, which he then picked up with a hoof – by means Geralt could hardly fathom – and set it in his hand.

"Good work, sonny, thanks for stickin' your neck out. Hope this is enough for your trouble. You didn't get hurt, eh? Eh?"

Geralt stared at the pouch, and at the farmpony, in confusion.

"So... you're not irritated that I didn't slay the beast?"

"Slay? Slay as in kill? As in murder?! The hay is wrong with you, sonny?! I told you to deal with the monster, not act like a darn psychopath! It's not like it'd hurt anypony!"

Geralt contemplated that, staring at the old pony, and slowly he felt a smile creep across his face.

"True enough, Ornery. You take care, and let me know if monsters trouble you again."

As Geralt left the farmstead, one thought persisted in the witcher's mind.

I actually got paid. In full. For sparing the monster.

Geralt grinned to himself.

The ponies here must be absolutely crazy.